The Pillow Fort
by rusanno
Summary: In which Sniper coaxes spy into a pillow fort he built and fluff happens.


"What _have_ you done?"

"I made a fort."

Spy surveyed the war zone. Blankets, pillows, sheets, chairs, a lamp, the couch, at least one hundred clothes pins, all amassed in one giant web of childish nonsense spanning the entire living room.

"I see," He glanced down at his tea abysmally and propped it on the corner of the coffee table not covered in blanket.

Apparently that had not been the reaction his partner had wanted. His mouth turned down at the corners. "You don't like it?"

"Well I was hoping to sit on the _couch_ and drink my tea, but-"

"There's plenty of room inside. I made the roof really high."

His partner was physically incapable of making a puppy face that would win him any favors from anybody, but he had known the spy long enough to know how to guilt trip him, and he was doing it now. Staring at the fort in silence, not looking at him, not really moving, not really making any sound, he waited. There it is. out of the corner of his eye he looks over at the spy, and now back to the fort, fiddling with his over-large hands. Now he looks back again, now the fort, now the spy, now the fort, now the spy a little longer, now the fort longest of all.

"Okay. You win bushman. Are you happy? If I'm going to be sleeping on the damn floor for you, you better be happy."

Suddenly his feet weren't exactly touching the ground anymore and his lungs felt like they were going to explode from the sides. The room spun in circles around him for a second at the end of which someone had the decency to kiss his cheek and drop him on his own two feet again. The sniper's sock feet disappearing under the circus tent of standard issue, Mann co sheets was the next thing he saw when the room finally decided to stand still again.

"Merde."

He picked up the mug of tea- now lukewarm -and bent his knees to crawl under the low hanging lip of the front door. He felt his back pop when he crawled through the doorway and he prayed to god it wasn't audible. It was.

"I'm too old for this and so are you."

"So? It's fun. I used to do this with my brothers all the time at home."

"Remind me to never put you in charge of doing the laundry ever again. Here, take my cup."

At least the blankets were soft. To his immense relief, after the tight squeeze through the entrance, the sniper had not lied about making the ceiling high. The corner lamp had been dragged over and its arm extended to the highest setting so that the blankets fell away from the head of it, carrying light down with them. Over the harsh bulb of said lamp, sniper had taped some kind of ball which diffused the light in many different directions and colors, painting the off-white walls of the tent-fort like some abstract, pastel painting.

"That took forever to get it to stay." The sniper grinned with pride as he noticed the spy now admiring his little pillow fort. "Prettier on the inside ain't it?"

He nodded glancing over at the sniper as he lay back on the pillows piled in the corner, arms hooked comfortably behind his head, lips curved up in a slight grin as he surveyed his work. The spy slipped his gloves off his hands and stuffed them in the inner pocket of his jacket . Then the jacket was discarded as well. The sniper looked over at him. Now the tie. His partner swallowed and the grin spread. Now the top three buttons of his shirt and the cuffs. Everything lay in the corner.

"Wouldn' wanna wrinkle yer pants sleepin' in the floor would ya?"

"Not in the living room."

"Come on. We're in a fortress."

"Well then let's see you do it first. I was only getting comfortable."

"Alright," He unbuckled the belt on his pants and pulled the strip of leather from it's loops, doubling it and giving the spy a small swat on the thigh before tossing it over with the jacket and tie. His hands hesitated at the fly and moved up to unbutton the shirt.

Spy cocked an eyebrow. Hesitation? The shirt fell in two and the little pudge of his belly poked through under a trail of black fuzz. Now they returned to the zipper. A slight blush stained his cheeks and his eyes darted up at the spy who was watching him closely.

"Don't- don't laugh okay?"

"What?"

"They're- mom sent them from home from forever ago and I didn't figure I'd be undressin' for you today since it was laundry day an' all and then I built the fort and I just remembered I had them on."

"Mm now you make me want to see," he laughed. The sniper regarded him seriously.

"Fine. I promise I won't laugh. Now show me."

He pushed the pants down over his knees and ankles, kicking them into the corner.

He laughed anyway, not loudly, but enough to make sniper blush a deep red and get mad at him. He couldn't help it though. Those things were not subtle at all! They were two tone red with a lighter shade of red over the crotch. This however, was not the amusing part about them. This was perfectly normal. What was not perfectly normal about them was the large black cross-hairs etched inside the lighter area, just over his cock.

"Mon Dieu couldn't be any more obvious than than could you."

"You haven't seen the back."

The spy forgot to be quiet and tumbled back on the sheets. The lamp seemed to tilt and suddenly there were arms around him pulling him in. The light wobbled back and forth as the sheet walls fell slacker, but eventually it steadied and the whole fort did not come crashing to the floor. He was, however, pressed to the sniper's exposed chest, hearing the pounding of his heart as he watched the lamp over head with a tense jaw.

When he spoke again it was in a low whisper, "Best not do that again."

The spy nodded, enjoying for the moment, the close press of his lover's body, the strength of the arms around him, protecting him from the evil lamp and the fiendish, off-white, standard issue cotton sheets and clothespins.

His hands slipped down to unzip his own pants, and the sniper's eyes flicked back to his face. Without looking down, he rid himself of his pants and tangled his bare legs with the sniper's.

"Lace?"

"mmhmm."

"You really like that stuff don't you?"

"Mmm not in the living room."

Then the sniper pressed his lips to the spy's forehead, and he grumbled something meaningless about his tea having gone cold as the sniper brought a blanket up over both of them.


End file.
